


devil's gonna set me free

by TheEagleGirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, F/M, Rhaegar is a little bitch, Slow-ish burn, Two lonely people who fall in love slowly and become less alone? Sign me up, lyanna and jaime both deserve better, ok it's not THAT slow of a burn, slow on the feelings, sue me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-04-23 21:46:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14341563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEagleGirl/pseuds/TheEagleGirl
Summary: Lyanna Stark was not made to be a queen. She was made to be free, like the wild girl she used to be.Jaime Lannister feels the same, these days.Or, two broken people find each other in the dark, stumbling together to keep the loneliness at bay, if only for a little while.





	1. we're all a little broken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amaati](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaati/gifts).



> I hope you guys enjoy! I recently realized just how much I love this crack pairing, and now I've actually found the motivation to start a fic for them.
> 
> For Amaati <3

The queen drinks heavily through the feast, though Jaime is perhaps the only one to realize. Lyanna Stark was not made to sit before so many people, to be their smiling, gracious girl--but she is a Stark, and knows her duty. To her left, King Rhaegar scarcely notices, lost in thought as he is wont to be.

It is Jaime’s job to watch, however. Tonight, he watches the queen.

Lyanna Stark has never trusted him, but perhaps that isn’t quite fair for Jaime to say. She hardly trusts anyone in King’s Landing, hardly can stand the lot of them, and if the angry flush on her face when she regards her husband tonight is any indication...her patience with him is wearing thin as well. But Lyanna Stark knows her duty, and if it were not for Jaime _watching_ so closely, he might not have known anything was ever amiss with her. The red in her cheeks would just be a sign of young love, adoration for her husband--as the rest of King’s Landing believes.

Finally, Rhaegar notices his wife’s state and frowns, almost concerned. He leans closer to Lyanna, and they exchange a few terse words. Sighing, the King waves Jaime over, says in a low voice, “My wife is unwell. Please take her to her chambers.”

Lyanna is livid, Jaime can tell that much. But she stands with more grace than he’d expect of a woman who’s drunk so much, and in a moment Jaime finds himself having to keep up behind her.

“Your Grace,” he says, after she takes a wrong turn. “Your chambers are this way--”

She doesn’t stop walking--marching, it seems more like. But that isn’t queenly, and Jaime thinks Lyanna Stark looks as though she was made to be a queen.

“I’m going where I wish,” she says, when he repeats himself. _But Rhaegar said_ … Jaime almost begins, before thinking better of himself. Lyanna has learned to reign in her wild impulses since first arriving here, where she’d railed against her guards and Rhaegar’s commands, but her will is quite fierce when she is determined. Still, Jaime can hardly march her to her own chambers, and besides--he knows where she’s going now.

Jon Targaryen is sleeping restlessly when Jaime and Lyanna arrive. Lyanna Stark’s face softens immediately, and she looks young again. Jaime forgets that she’s a year younger than him, wrapped in ice as she is. Nearly eighteen, the Queen has maintained a stoic face for most of her time in King’s Landing. Untouchable.

She dismisses the nursemaid as Jaime takes his place by the door, keeping watch. He feels endlessly uncomfortable in moments like this, an intruder in a private affair. Rhaegar had put Lyanna’s son in the nursery besides Aegon and Rhaenys, nearly two corridors away from the Queen’s chambers--despite her loud protests.

Lyanna scoops up her sleeping son into her arms, and he quiets immediately. The youngest prince slept soundly only in his mother’s arms. They looked a picture together--two Starks, out of place in King’s Landing. Jaime feels a pang, almost painful--a keen yearning for his family, as well.

“Tell me, Lannister,” Lyanna says, after a time, her eyes on her son. “Are all men so unfaithful?”

Jaime tears his eyes from his feet. “Your Grace?” If he acts as though he does not understand, perhaps Lyanna will not press the issue.

Her face, cool and stiff, lifts to meet his gaze. Underneath the ice, her eyes are red. “My husband. The moment the grand maester expressed doubt for more children from me, my husband begins consorting with some red priestess for Asshai. The way he did with me,” she says, jaw clenching, “when his late wife Elia could no longer produce heirs.”

His _prophecy_. Jaime remembers talk of it, when Lyanna Stark had arrived with a boy in her arms, not the Visenya Rhaegar had hoped for.

“The woman promises she can give him a girl,” Lyanna continues, stroking her sons cheek. “And there are vicious rumors spreading--that my son is _not_ Rhaegar’s, but the child of Ser Arthur Dayne...a man too dead to refute those claims.”

“Convenient,” Jaime quips, before he realizes this is the queen he’s speaking to, not Tyrion.

Lyanna Stark gives him a tired, wry smile. “Quite.” Almost dreamily, she begins to rock Jon in her arms. “If only Ser Arthur were his father. If only someone else, anyone but the King,” she says, the sweetness of her tone strange against the pain writ between her words. “I’ve never been with anyone but him, but Jon looks nothing like him. So tell me, Kingslayer, are all men so unfaithful? Do all men break their word? Do they all accuse women around them of their sins?”

In her arms, Jon stirs against his mother’s rising voice. The Queen, close to tears, shushes him, kisses her son softly.

“No,” Jaime says. “There are men who keep their word.”

Lyanna looks up at him, and for once, her gaze is soft, unshed tears clinging to her lashes. _She’s only seventeen_ , Jaime reminds himself. Too young, perhaps, for the weight of a country, the weight of a child and a husband who does not love her, who wants something she can no longer give.

Slowly, she walks towards him, stopping until they are a breath away. He’s never studied her so closely, never seen the soft pattern of freckles across her nose, the way her hair curls behind her ears.

“You’re not one of them, are you?” She asks, but she’s not really asking. Jaime has killed a king, broken one vow to uphold another.

 _No, Your Grace,_ he tries to say, but his voice is lost. Mutely, he shakes his head. Jaime has broken his word more than he’s kept it. With Cersei, back in Casterly Rock. With King Aerys, in the very throne room he’d guarded today. With Rhaella, failing to protect an innocent woman from her monster of a husband. Too many vows. Jaime could never uphold one without breaking the other.

“Good,” Lyanna Stark murmurs, her voice unreadable. “Then you won’t mind breaking another, will you?”

Jaime has no idea what she means until she steps closer. She’s almost as tall as him--a girl of seventeen, still growing. Carefully, she balances her son in one arm before reaching up to touch Jaime’s cheek. Her hesitance is a nervous sort, her eyes searching his face. Nothing like his sister. Somehow, it’s almost endearing.

“I’ve never kissed anyone but Rhaegar,” she whispers. _A shame_ , Jaime thinks. Lyanna must think the same, because she continues. “Have you kissed a girl, Ser Jaime?”

He lies. “No.”

None but Cersei. He cannot do this, cannot break his word to his sister, cannot break his word to the _king_ , cannot break his vows again. But Jaime finds his eyes have closed, his face turns into the queen’s soft touch, his lips brushing her palm.

“May I kiss you, Ser Jaime?”

If he says no, Jaime thinks she would truly step away, and he could pretend this strange encounter never happened.

Instead, he opens his eyes. “What’s another broken vow?”

Lyanna isn’t fooled by the bitter twist of his sharp smile, or the acid tone of his words. She simply waits, shifting Jon on her arm.

Jaime answers for her, dips his head to close the gap between them.

A soft kiss, for two shattered people. Against his cheek, Jaime can feel the unshed tears that had gathered on her lashes. He doesn’t have to pretend, he muses. It’s Lyanna Stark in his arms, no one else.

The queen steps away with a start, eyes fluttering. For once, her cold Stark eyes seem to burn into Jaime’s, her face flushed. In her arms, her son sleeps soundly. He always does, in his mother’s embrace.

Jaime clears his throat. His lips still tingle, from that barely-there contact. “Will that be all, my queen?” he asks gruffly, and he’s sure his face is burning as well.

Lyanna bites her lip, looks at the door. “Yes. You may leave us. I’ll stay with my son tonight.”

Jaime nods, and turns to go. He thinks she watches him on his way out, so he doesn’t stop to touch his tingling lips until he’s taken his post outside the door. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime is no stranger to guilt. He’s felt it every day for years now, since his first day in the Kingsguard, facing his father’s rage. Guilt is almost a part of him now, but _this._ This feeling is new, how Jaime turns it over in his chest, how he relishes the tightness whenever he sees Lyanna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter update! thanks for being patient, everyone!

The guilt that presses in Jaime’s chest whenever his eyes catch the queen’s puzzles him. Perhaps he feels guilty because she is not Cersei, will never be. He’s broken that vow to his sister, the vow he made to _himself_ , when he said Cersei would be the only one.

Perhaps it is because she is Rhaegar’s wife that he feels this way. Jaime had worshipped Rhaegar, when he’d first become a Kingsguard knight. How he’d wished for Rhaegar to return, on those worst days, when Aerys’s bloodlust had reached its peak. How he’d dreamed of Rhaegar on the throne, just and kind, restoring peace to the realm. He’d thought Rhaegar would answer all his prayers, then.

Jaime had been a stupid boy.

Perhaps he still is. A wise knight would not have stepped closer to Lyanna Stark, would not have kissed her. Would not have played it over in his mind, standing guard at her son’s door.

Jaime is no stranger to guilt. He’s felt it every day for years now, since his first day in the Kingsguard, facing his father’s rage. Guilt is almost a part of him now, but _this_. This feeling is new, how Jaime turns it over in his chest, how he relishes the tightness whenever he sees Lyanna. How the blank look she struggles to keep on her face when she meets his eyes only makes the feeling burn through him.

It’s not because of Cersei, he decides--although she is never far from his mind, from his heart--or because of Rhaegar. _Then what?_ a small part of his mind asks.

The guard around the royal family rotates often, sometimes randomly to confuse those trying to set down their schedules. Jaime spends three days with the children, guarding Rhaenys and Aegon--they seem quieter, now that Elia is dead--and then with Rhaegar. He has no trouble meeting the king’s eyes, it seems. Kissing Rhaegar’s wife didn’t _feel_ like a betrayal to Rhaegar, the way that kissing Cersei had never felt _wrong_.

 _Then why do I feel guilty?_ he wonders.

Jaime mulls over it for _days_. Finally, a week later, he resolves to put it to rest. The queen had barely looked at him since their kiss. It wouldn’t happen again. There was no use puzzling out why his stomach squeezed every time he looked at her.

Perhaps he was too hasty in dismissing the subject, because the next morning he is assigned to guard Lyanna.

“The Queen wishes to take the children on a picnic,” Ser Gerold informs him as they break their fast. “You and Ser Barristan will be guarding her, the princess, and the princes in the Kingswood. You are to pick ten men from the household guard to accompany you.”

For a brief moment, Jaime wants to protest. He swallows his bite of egg, opens his mouth to say something, _anything_ , to convince Ser Gerold it should not be him that guards the queen. Instead, he finds himself saying, “As you command, ser.”

Jaime shouldn’t guard her, not yet. Not until he’s sure their _mistake_ would not be repeated. _I wouldn’t_ , he tells himself rather sternly. _It’s her that needs to keep to herself._

But those thoughts are unkind, Jaime knows. Lyanna Stark is lonely, same as he. It was a slip in judgement on her part--on _both_ their parts. She’s a clever girl, and she must know the folly of attempting to kiss him again.

And so he goes to the queen.

  
  
  


Lyanna Stark looks lovely and young, out among the trees. The crown and the Red Keep age her, sometimes, and out in the fresh air it is almost as if a weight has passed off her brow. For the first time, Jaime hears her _laugh_ , and with her hair streaming in the wind as she rides, she looks more like a girl than a queen.

Her eyes are still shining when Ser Addam helps her dismount, although she grumbles that she hates riding sidesaddle. Her complaints are forgotten, though, when little Rhaenys and Aegon dismount their ponies, and Prince Jon is brought to her. To Jaime, it is almost as though she remembers who she is, and secures her mask of stone before going to her stepchildren, Jon in her arms.

“Now remember,” she says, as the picnic is set up behind them. “Eat neatly, and then we will play games after.”

“The finding game!” Aegon exclaims, clapping. Lyanna smiles, kisses his cheek.

“If you’d like,” she agrees.

Jaime finds he has to stop himself from watching her. He has that feeling--the guilt, soft and persistent in his chest. He turns his face from them under the pretense of checking the perimeter, knowing that it will give him away. He must stay _away_ , he reminds himself.

That proves difficult, however, when he returns.

“The children want to play the finding game,” Ser Barristan tells him, in hushed breaths. “I am splitting the guards among the three of them, and I will be with Rhaenys and Aegon while they search for Queen Lyanna. You will go with the queen while she hides in the woods.” Ser Barristan makes to move away.

This time, Jaime does protest. “I’m awful at hiding,” he says, “and much better at finding. I should stay with the children.”

Ser Barristan looks at him with ice in his eyes. “You will not. You are to go with the queen.” And then Jaime remembers, suddenly, and the warm summer day turns cold around him. He is the kingslayer. He betrayed his vows to cut down the mad king from behind, and Ser Barristan’s honor will never let him forget it. Why should he be trusted with the heirs to the throne, then?

Jaime nearly snarls at Ser Barristan, wants to show him what he thinks of _that_ . _I’ve given my honor to the realm_ , he would say. _I saved the lives of everyone in King’s Landing from a madman._ The heat that explodes in Jaime’s chest burns, but he clenches his jaw and does not let the fire spill from him.

Instead, he nods sharply, returns to his post. When the game does begin, Lyanna barely reacts to his presence behind her, simply begins to meander away from their picnic site, looking for a place to hide.

Jaime remembers playing this game with Cersei, when they were young, and then Tyrion--though never both at once. They played in Casterly Rock, then in the woods. Tyrion was exceptional at hiding, though Cersei would grow bored of it quickly. She’d refused to play once Jaime began to jump out at her, hoping to scare her into screaming.

Jaime misses her so much, it is as though a piece of him is gone.

“Ser?” Jaime hears, and he looks up in alarm. Lyanna’s eyes are on his, and he realizes she’d called his name twice before he reacted.

 _Stupid_ , he hears Cersei taunt.

Jaime shakes the vestiges of his sister off. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“I think I’ve found a spot,” Lyanna says, and squints up at him. “Can you climb down these rocks in that armor?”

Jaime follows her finger, and sees. Between the thick trees, there seems to be a path down. They’d be nearly invisible from up here.

“Yes, Your Grace,” he repeats. “I’ll go first, to make sure the way down is sound, if Your Grace wouldn’t mind waiting a moment.”

Lyanna nods her assent, and Jaime pushes aside the branches to get a better look. Behind him, he can hear Rhaenys’s voice distantly, counting. They have little time left to hide.

There is barely enough space for two down here, and Jaime is about to turn back and tell Lyanna. They should not be so close together, not after their last encounter--but when he turns, it is just in time to stop Lyanna from crashing into him.

“Sorry,” she says breathlessly. “I think I slipped.”

He can see every eyelash, the way her eyes flutter shut for a moment when she takes a breath, steadying herself from the surprise of the fall. Jaime thinks to put distance between them, but  the trees at his back are too thick, and the only way to open space is back where they came. Instead, he shifts, so that he can lean Lyanna against a tree and gain a more defensible position--almost impossible in a space such as this. 

“They’ll probably find Merry first,” she whispers, after a moment. “She’s rubbish at hiding.”

Jaime smiles winningly, despite himself. The competitive Lannister in him is proud. “We’ve got the best spot, I should think.”

The leaves above them rustle, and the sun breaks through. Jaime turns his head to find Lyanna looking at him quizzically. She doesn’t look away when he meets her eyes, not this time.

They are still too close, her hands on his chest plate, his breath mingling with hers.

Jaime clears his throat. “You ride well,” he says, quietly. Lyanna smiles at the compliment.

“Thank you,” she whispers back. The shrieking children seem far away, but still her voice is low. “My brothers used to say I was part horse, not wolf.”

“Perhaps you should have been born Dornish,” Jaime suggests. “The sand steeds are said to be some of the best in the world.”

Lyanna scoffs. “I cannot say,” she says, “for I was not allowed to ride during my time in Dorne.”

Under other circumstances, Jaime would berate himself for not remembering, but he feels no need to here. This isn’t Cersei, who would grow angry at him for the slip of his tongue. “Why not?” he asks. “Surely there is no harm in practicing your riding.”

Lyanna laughs, more a gust of air than noise. “I tried to run away three times,” she tells him. “Ser Gerold thought keeping horses around would only encourage me.”

Jaime tries to picture her, at fifteen, breaking away from three of the greatest knights on the Kingsguard--not once, but _three_ times.

“Perhaps we should race sometime,” Jaime suggests, surprised that he actually says it. “On the way back to the keep?”

Lyanna leans her head back against the bark, regarding him. “I’m not sure you could take it,” she teases him. “Losing to a girl.”

“You forget I have a sister,” Jaime says, smiling down at her. “The first few years of my life were nothing _but_ losing to a girl.”

Lyanna smiles back, and the sun glimmers in her eyes. With a start, Jaime realizes she seems content with the silence between them, seems content to just look at him.

Jaime is used to being unnoticed. It’s been his defense, for the years he spent under Aerys’s reign of terror. He’s mastered the art of folding himself away, blending into an imposing background, just present enough for people to think twice before they approach the royal family. Eyes skirt over him quickly, heads turn away when he meets their gazes. No one _looks_ at him, which is how he’s survived for so long. But here, with the sunlight streaming through the trees, with Lyanna looking up at him, her eyes still soft with something he cannot name--Jaime realizes he likes it, being looked at. He likes it when she does it.

The guilt he’s been feeling--not about Cersei, not about Rhaegar--perhaps it is because Jaime _wants_ to kiss Lyanna Stark again. He doesn’t know what it means, to want someone other than his sister.

It is hard for him to say who moves forward first, but in the space between two heartbeats, they are kissing again. Lyanna tugs on Jaime’s chest plate, bringing them closer, and his hands are pulling at her shoulders with the same intent. This time it is no mere touch of their mouths, but a deep, desperate kiss.

When they break away, they are both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. Lyanna kisses him again, a swift, furtive thing, before she releases his armor. Jaime takes that as his cue to step away, or as far away as he can in this small pocket away from the world.

“What are we doing?” Jaime asks, finally, when their breathing has evened out. Lyanna’s hair is mussed, but he cannot seem to stop looking at her.

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I don’t--I don’t know.”

He wants to kiss her again. He wants to do _more_ than kiss her.

What a foolish notion, that. And what a foolish knight he is. He’s sworn to her husband, sworn to protect the king. He _can’t._

“I’ll tell you what I do know,” Lyanna says, after a moment. “I’m tired, and I am ridiculed. My husband will probably set me aside, if I cannot have more children for him. I miss my family. I need to protect my son. And,” her breath catches, and Jaime watches her struggle for composure, “I don’t want to be alone. It seems, of all the people here, you understand what it means to be alone in a room full of people.”

Jaime says nothing, though he wants to tell her he understands more than she knows.

There is a crash of leaves outside their hiding spot. It will not be long before they are found. Impulsively, Jaime leans forward and presses a hard kiss to her lips before pulling away.

Just in time, it seems, for little Rhaenys to peek through the foliage and announce, “I found you!”

Lyanna’s voice is falsely bright when she exclaims, “So you have! Such a clever girl.”

Jaime helps her out to the clearing before Ser Barristan can see their closeness, the tight space in which they’d hidden. It’s not proper for him to be so close to the queen, after all.

Lyanna meets his eyes, once they are back at the picnic site. It is all packed away, and she shakes her head at the boy who tries to help her onto her saddle. Instead, she selects one of the guard’s horses, pulls herself on it.

“Well?” she prompts, and grins down at Jaime. “Race you to the keep?”

For the first time in ages, Jaime _wants_ to, wants to feel the wind in his hair. He feels young again, as if Lyanna's joy at being outside is contagious.

"If you can keep up," Jaime challenges, grinning back.

They take off, and he is lighter than air. Even minutes later, when he loses, the feeling lingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO, poor Jaime in the beginning, not realizing that he has a crush.
> 
> If you liked this, please leave a comment/review letting me know what you thought! How do you guys think the relationship will develop?
> 
> (Also, next chapter: we get Rhaegar and Melisandre and that's gonna be wild)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed! If you did, please take a moment of your time to leave a comment/review. Each one makes me all fuzzy inside and I appreciate them <3


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